A Kiss With These Red Knives
by thewinchestergospel
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester pay a small North Carolina town a visit, and get more than they bargained for when they meet a young woman by the name of Delilah Winters.
1. Death Follows Her

_Chapter One_

"_Death Follows Her"_

_June 21__st__, 1999_

_Rutherfordton, North Carolina_

Delilah Winters stepped uneasily through the partially open front door of her home. The sixteen year old girl's heart filled with a sense of unknown dread, and, as she ventured further into the house, a strange, distasteful smell filled the air. It almost made her gag. "Gross…" She muttered to herself, pinching her nose with her index finger and thumb. _Mom must have forgotten to take out the trash, _she thought. _I leave for one weekend, and everyone forgets to clean up after themselves. _She tossed her purse and suitcase down on the leather couch in the living room, and finally let the hand holding her nose fall to her side, but the foul scent remained, almost as putrid as before.

"Mom?" Her voice echoed through the house. "Cody?" There was no reply. She shrugged, and picked her things back up, wandering down the hall. Her room was the last one on the hall, and she kept the door locked at all times when she wasn't there. Her little brother was in the "sneak into other people's rooms and accidentally destroy anything he could lay his eyes on" phase, so she kept a spare key on top of the shelf in the hallway, and one tucked away in her purse. She unlocked her door and stepped inside, flipping on the light switch. Her room was not unlike any other teenager's room. It was, at the very least, a little messy, and posters covered nearly every inch of her wall. Pictures of friends and family were tacked on a small bulletin board on the wall above her queen sized bed, and a couple bookshelves held her many cds, movies, and of course, books. She hung her purse on the doorknob of her door, and propped her suitcase at the end of her bed. She scratched aimlessly at the dried up stain of cake batter on the thighs of her jeans. She had just spent the entire weekend with her best friend, Violet, who had, earlier that day, insisted that they bake a cake. Unfortunately, neither of them had a long enough attention span to remember to turn off the oven afterwards, and a small fire started from what was supposed to be the cake. Needless to say, Violet's mother wouldn't be letting them use the oven again anytime soon.

She decided that she would unpack later, and that she should probably go empty the trash and clean up whatever mess there might be elsewhere in the house. After her father had gone missing about a year ago, her mother really only had the time to watch after Cody while Delilah was in school, and afterwards, work until 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning. During that time, Delilah would baby-sit her four year old little brother, clean the house, and when Cody would finally go to sleep, she'd get around to whatever homework she had. Despite their situation, they lived in a pretty decent home; the one she had grown up in, before and after her father disappeared.

She picked up a couple toys scattered on the living room floor, and returned them to the toy box in her brother's room. Once again she found herself gagging at the smell from the kitchen. As she stepped through the doorway, she prepared herself for the worst, expecting to see a sink full of filthy dishes and an overflowing bag of garbage. What she saw didn't even come close, and it was then she realized what the smell had been all along was: Death. The rotting corpses of her two family members.

After that, everything had been a blur: The images of their slashed throats, blood in puddles across the tiled floor. The faint sound of police and ambulance sirens, the coroners coming to investigate the bodies. All the while, she just sat there. Stoic, detached. Not a single tear had fallen down her cheek, not a word had escaped her lips, except to answer the questions she was asked. When she was sent to live with another relative, she didn't say goodbye to anyone. Anyone at all. She left that town without any intention of ever returning.

After the murder of her mother and brother, her uncle, residing in Virginia, took her in. He was her father's brother, her only remaining relative, and she hadn't seen him at all since she was six years old, when his own wife was killed. He didn't contact them much after that. Her parents didn't seem to want anything to do with the man. '_He's not well; he's not in his right mind! He thinks something, not someone, killed Rose. We can't let a man like that around our child, I won't allow it.' _she remembered overhearing her mother say to her dad one time. He didn't disagree, he didn't protest. From that moment on, not a word was spoken about Tony Winters, or his strange behavior.

For the first few months of the transition, Delilah kept her distance from him, and everyone else, for that matter. Tony understood. He was very familiar to this behavior. He knew what it was like to lose family. When his wife had died, he spent weeks at a time alone, without leaving the house, or speaking to anyone at all. She had been killed by something unnatural, he knew it. Her body drained of blood, two holes in her neck; the image was still fresh in his mind. He had never been able to track down the thing that did it. After years of hunting, he gave up, stopped moving around. No more late nights and cheap motels. He got a house, and settled down. Every day the guilt still haunted him.

Delilah slowly began to gather her emotions back. She was no longer distant and unemotional. She started back in high school. She would have breakfast with her uncle in the morning, and in the evenings, she would sit with him at the dinner table as he would tell her stories about life on the road. She had a hard time believing a lot of the things he said. Was she actually supposed to believe that vampires and spirits existed, and he went from town to town killing them? Some days she thought he was insane, but deep down, she knew that it somehow made sense. Terrible things happened everywhere, all the time. Mysterious deaths, some too gory for words. People couldn't be the only reason for it.

He'd teach her things about hunting. He knew she didn't want to believe the nightmare the world really was, but she had to be prepared. She studied his books on urban legends, and all the nightmarish creatures he claimed he had faced. He taught her how to fight, how to protect herself. He never took her on a hunt, and she never asked him to.

Delilah lived two different lives: The one she lived at home, where she was fair believer in the supernatural, and… the other one. The one she lived at school, where she had a decent amount of friends, a boyfriend now and again, and an overall normal high school experience. She went to prom, she graduated, and at nineteen, she moved out of her uncle's house, determined for the rest of her existence to be as normal as possible. She had fallen in love with a young man by the name of Nathan, and lived with him a couple years, before he proposed. Maybe her hopes of having a normal yet happy life wasn't as impossible as she had thought it would be…

_August 17__th__, 2004_

_South Carolina_

Every time she would look down at the engagement ring on her finger, her heart would beat wildly. She often had to remind herself that this was real, that it wasn't a dream. She had to remind herself that in a few months from now, the man in the next room would be her husband, and she would be his wife.

"Dee! The popcorn done yet, babe?" Her fiancé's voice from the living room snapped her out of her little daydream. She had been standing in the kitchen in front of the microwave, waiting for the popcorn to finish popping. She cursed loudly, the scent of burnt popcorn filling the room. She opened the microwave quickly, pulling the bag out and opening it to check, but it was too late. The corn had popped its last pop.

"What happened?" Nathan asked her, hurrying into the room. He noticed the burning smell, and saw the bag, and then chuckled. "See, this is why I don't let you cook," He joked.

She rolled her eyes lightheartedly, "We can just have chips while we watch the movie," She said as she picked the hot bag of ruined popcorn up and started towards the trash can to throw it away. Behind her, there was a loud crash as a long, dark cloud of smoke charged through the window in the kitchen towards her. Before she could react, the popcorn bag slipped from her fingers and the smoke shoved itself down her throat. And then everything went black.

When she came to, her head was throbbing. She was laying on her back on the kitchen floor, the linoleum cold against her skin. She sat up slowly, noticing burnt popcorn scattered a few feet away from her. The faint smell was still noticeable, but there was one smell that stood out to her to most, one that she had smelled before; five years ago. Death.

She stood to her feet slowly, hoping she was wrong. "Please… Please…" She whispered, squeezing her dark green eyes closed as she turned around. She opened her eyes. Blood was dried on her shaking hands. It stained the front of her shirt. She knew it wasn't her own. Nathan's body laid on the floor several feet away. Delilah sobbed, kneeling over his bloodied, motionless body.


	2. Did I Frighten You?

_Chapter Two._

"_Did I Frighten you?"_

_Two weeks ago._

_Rutherfordton, North Carolina  
_

"You sure you want to go home, Cayla? You can come over to my place and spend the night, just like old times," The brunette urged. "I know you're still upset about what happened to Lydia, Victoria, and… I am too. You don't have to go through it alone, y'know."

"Mara, I'm fine," She assured her. "I've told you a million times. Of course I'm upset. But it's almost been a whole month, I'm okay, I swear. This day really helped, though. Just hanging out, shopping with my best friend. _like old times._" She mimicked, laughing.

Mara glanced at her warily. "Alright… but give me a call when you get home, okay?"

"Will do," Cayla said, smiling as she gave her friend a hug and walked across the Wal-Mart parking lot to her car. Cayla Davis was two weeks shy of her 25th birthday, and wore a brightly colored outfit to match the cheerful smile plastered on her face, and when she was out of sight, the smile turned into an exhausted frown. _"_What was I thinking, going shopping in these shoes…"She thought aloud, grimacing as she glared down at the new yellow pumps that adorned her aching feet. _"_Note to self: Never wear these again. _Ever." _She was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, and a yellow top. Her blonde hair was long and curly, falling past her shoulders and halfway down her back.

She rummaged through her large sequined purse for her keys. Upon finding them, she unlocked the car door and tossed her shopping bags in the backseat, and the purse in the empty passenger's seat. It took only a matter of minutes to reach her home, which is what she liked about this town. Everything was close by, you didn't have to go out of your way to do any shopping or run errands. As she pulled into the driveway, and took the key out of the ignition, rain began to fall from the cloudy night sky. _Wonderful timing, _she thought.

She hurried to the front door, keys in one hand, shopping bags held in the other, regretting that she didn't bring along an umbrella. After unlocking the door, she stepped inside her cozy three bedroom house, leaving the bags by the door as she ventured into the living room. A couple of boxes were still lying about the house; she had yet to unpack everything after moving out of her apartment six months earlier. She pulled her long, blonde hair into a ponytail and quickly changed into some sweatpants and a tank top. Letting out a deep sigh, she collapsed onto the couch and looked to see what was on TV. After unsuccessfully finding anything remotely interesting, she powered the television off and sat there for just a minute. She picked the house phone up from it's receiver and dialed Mara's number to let her know she had gotten home safely. No answer. She would try again in a few minutes, right after she got herself something to drink.

As she got up and walked into the kitchen, she quietly groaned at the sight of the huge pile of dirty dishes in the sink. _I'll get around to that later…_ She thought, but she knew that wasn't true. She had been procrastinating just about everything for weeks now. She grabbed one of the few remaining clean glasses from the cabinet and walked over to the refrigerator to find something to drink. She examined the contents of the refrigerator, and then frowned, realizing she was out of soda. "Water it is, then." She muttered, closing the door, and turning around.

She gasped, startled by the person who she saw suddenly standing by the refrigerator, the empty glass slipping out of her hand. It shattered upon hitting the floor. "Oh, shoot," She said, carefully kneeling down to pick the broken pieces of glass off the linoleum floor. "Don't sneak up on me like that, Mara! You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Here, I'll help you with that." Mara said, kneeling over.

Cayla nodded and sighed, standing up and walking over to the cabinet. "Thanks. How did you get in here, anyway? I didn't hear you knock."

"I knocked, but no one ever came to the door. It was unlocked, so I just let myself in," She explained. The clinking of the broken glass could be heard as she was cleaning it up. "I wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"Oh," Cayla said. _The volume on the television was up a bit.. Surely that's why I didn't hear her.._ She thought, shrugging as she pulled out another glass from the cabinet. She placed it on the counter as she turned around. Mara was standing right in front of her when she turned around, and if she hadn't laid the glass down already, she would have probably dropped it again. She placed her hand on her chest, trying to calm her frantic heartbeats. "Could you stop doing that, Mar? Good grief, you're going to have to tote my body to the emergency room before this day is over, if you keep it up."

Her friend's lips turned into an eerie grin as she tilted her head a bit, her eyes turning completely black. "I'm sorry. Did I frighten you?" She said, the smile turning sinister, and the long, very sharp fragment of broken glass in her hand glimmered in the light of the kitchen as she held it in the air above Cayla, "Tell your dead friends I say hello," She whispered in her ear, before plunging the weapon into the young woman's chest.


	3. An Unexpected Visitor

_Chapter Three._

"_An Unexpected Visitor"_

_Present day_

_Roanoke, Virginia_

It was two a.m., and Delilah Winters was wide awake. The twenty-six year old was wearing tight, tattered black jeans, boots, and a dark burgundy long sleeved v-neck shirt. Her light brown hair fell in curls about her shoulders, and her bangs were swept casually to the side of her face. Her eyes were green, outlined messily in black, and were slightly bloodshot as a result of lack of sleep. She had her cell phone pressed against her ear, sighing deeply and squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, "Okay.. Thanks for letting me know. I'll… see what I can do," She said before pulling the phone away from her face and closing it. She was leaning against her car, parked outside her dead uncle's dilapidated two story home in Virginia. After the deadly incident with her fiancé, she moved back into his house, only to have him die of a "heart attack" two months later. Ever since then, she had been living there alone, only leaving when she had to go work a job. She'd stay at a motel if she had to, but she'd eventually find her way back here. She always did. It was much better than cheap, sleazy motel rooms, anyway.

For sixteen years, Rutherfordton, North Carolina had been home to her. When she looked back on them, the memories of that town were mainly warm, happy ones: learning how to ride a bike, sleepovers with her friends, having parents who's marriage _wasn't _falling apart. When she was sixteen, however, all of that changed. The happy memories faded and all that was left was demons, death, and destruction. She wished she could go back to a day where she was young, oblivious to the world around her.

The picture in her mind suddenly switched to Christmas dinner, 1988, exactly a year before her family had disowned Tony Winters, the lovable but troubled uncle. She was five years old, sitting at the dining table; she was short, so she had to stand on her knees on the chair so that she could get to her food. Mashed potatoes, a couple slices of turkey, and, her favorite, a chunk of pie on the side of the plate. Her father sat at the end of the table, her uncle across from her, and her mother and grandmother on each side of her. She nudged her grandmother in the arm with her elbow. "Gramma?"

"Yes dear?" The elderly woman asked, looking down at the child.

"You gonna eat that?" She asked, pointing her finger at the apple pie on her grandmothers plate.

Everyone laughed. No one was feeling sorrowed, troubled, or tormented. As Hallmark as the moment sounded, it was pure happiness, pure innocence, and Delilah would do anything to get that moment back.

She tucked her cell phone back into the pocket of her jeans and walked back inside the home, out of the chilly October air. The outside appearance of the home did not do the inside justice, not in the slightest. She had left her late uncle and aunt's room upstairs untouched, but spruced up the rest of the house when he had died. It gave her something to do on those days that she wasn't on a hunt, and it helped get her mind off of things. The inside of the home was now pretty decent looking, and, aside from the secret compartment in the living room wall that held weapons of all sorts, and the fact that she slept with a knife under her pillow and a shotgun propped up against her side of the bed, the house appeared normal. The kitchen was immaculate, and stocked with groceries regularly. The living room was a bit small, but homely, nonetheless. There was a small bathroom downstairs, next to her own bedroom. Upstairs, there was her uncle's locked bedroom, and a guest room with an adjoining bathroom right next to that. She didn't know why she even bothered with that room; She never had guests, except for the occasional hunter that had been friends with her uncle, who had dropped by to give their condolences around the time of his death. She rarely even stepped foot upstairs.

She plopped onto the couch in the living room, but, instead of turning on the television and succumbing to the couch potato she was at heart, she just sat there with a thoughtful expression on her face. She was debating whether or not to look into a couple of murders in her hometown. That was what the phone call a couple minutes earlier had been about; an old friend of the family informed her of the situation. She sunk into the couch and let out a deep sigh. Two murders and one suicide in her old town and she was supposed to what, jump up and hurry as fast as she could to the town her family was brutally murdered, the town that she had avoided for ten years, and swore that she would never return to? Just so she could find out it was just some psychotic serial killer, and nothing unnatural at all? She promised herself that she would get online and look up the details later, but for now, all she wanted to do was cuddle up with a blanket and a pillow and rid her mind of all the memories that had resurfaced that night.

_xx_

Nearly a week had passed, and the Rutherfordton murders were no longer Delilah's top priority, if it had ever been. It was five o'clock on a Thursday evening, and she was sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop, looking into a couple articles about a haunting in a home somewhere in Connecticut. Each of the residents that had ever lived there had either fled the home with nothing but their lives, or died there. _Totally Amityville, _she thought. She had to stop herself from grinning. She loved cases like that. Haunted houses were rare for her. She would pack a couple of her things, and leave first thing in the morning.

Loud, hasty knocks at the front door startled Delilah, interrupting her from her research. She closed the lid to her laptop and stood up from the table, drifting into the living room, curious as to who would possibly be coming to see her.

She pressed her ear against the door, "Who's there?"

"Open up, Dee," ordered a female's voice. Only one person in her lifetime had ever called her that, and she instantly knew who it was. She swung the door open, revealing a familiar young woman with bright red hair. Violet Lovelace.

"Vee? What are you doing here?" Delilah asked, unable to come up with anything else to say.

Violet did not answer that question. Instead, she rolled her eyes and faked a smile. "I'm good, thanks, and you? I really appreciate you up and leaving town. The ten years away from you really helped build our friendship, best friend," She said harshly, stepping inside the home.

"I'm sorry. You don't know what I've been though. I just didn't want to drag you into it and get you hurt," Delilah said, crossing her arms across her chest, looking down at the floor.

Violet sighed, "We've been friends since the first grade, Delilah. You know you could have talked to me about anything. I know what happened to your mom and your little brother really turned your life upside down, but you could have called me. Ten years have gone by, Dee. What happened that you couldn't pick up the phone and call your best friend?"

"Do you really want to know?" Delilah asked, reluctantly.

Violet nodded. "Heck yes. I spent the last week trying to track you down, I think I deserve an explanation."

"A couple of years ago I had a boyfriend whom I had lived with for a couple of years. Everything was going along perfectly, we even got engaged… and then one day I found him laying on the kitchen floor, his throat slashed and blood everywhere. Murder. I haven't exactly been able to face the world since then," She explained, editing out some of the actual details for her sake. Violet knew nothing of the supernatural world, and she planned to keep it that way for now. Truth be told, she didn't have the time nor the energy to have one of those "monsters exist" talks, and then be told she was insane about ten times. "So that's why I never called you, or anyone from back home, for that matter. I didn't want to drag you back into my dangerous drama filled world."

Violet's harsh frown disappeared, replaced by a sympathetic one. "Oh Dee, I'm so sorry… If I would have known, I wouldn't have barged in like this…" Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. "How are you doing now?" She asked.

Delilah shrugged. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

Violet sighed. "Well… it's been ten years since I've seen you last.. I'd imagine we have a lot of catching up to do," She said.

Delilah agreed. "We certainly do. Let's start with, what the heck is happening back home? I heard Lydia Green, Victoria Smith, and Hanna Jones are dead."

Violet nodded. "It's true, and to top it off, Cayla was just found murdered in her home two weeks ago."

"Cayla? Cayla Davis?" Delilah's eyes widened. Violet nodded again.

"Like I said, we've got a lot of catching up to do," She said.

"I'll get us something to drink, and then you can tell me all about it," Delilah said, walking towards the kitchen.

"You go do that," she said, collapsing onto the couch, and then she added, wearily, "And Dee?"

Delilah stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, "Yes?"

"Beer, please."

_**A/N: I know it takes a while to get to the Winchester boys we all know and love, but be patient (:**_


	4. Strange Things

_Chapter Four_

_"Strange Things"_

After Delilah had gotten them both something to drink, she returned to the living room and joined Violet on the couch. "Okay, so I heard that Lydia Green was the first one killed," She said, "Is that right?"

Violet nodded. "Yeah, about a month ago. They found her, shot to death. And a couple days later, Victoria- You remember Victoria right? She killed herself! Guess she didn't handle Lydia's death that well." She explained, shaking her head sadly. "Hannah Jones was killed a week later."

"How?" Delilah asked.

Violet arched her brows. "What do you mean, _how_?"

Delilah sighed. "I mean, how was she killed? Was it exactly like Lydia's murder?"

Violet's eyebrows remained raised for a moment before she shook her head. "No… she wasn't shot. Her throat was… sliced open." She shuddered.

"And then Cayla…?"

"Was stabbed two weeks ago." Violet finished for her. "It's been awful, really. Practically everyone in town is on edge, especially since whoever's been doing it hasn't been caught yet. Everyone is terrified; hiding away in their homes, not going out after dark, all that. Mara hasn't even left her home at all since it happened."

Delilah thought hard for a moment, trying to recall the girl. "Mara… Ramsey, right?"

Violet nodded. "Yep, that's her. She's locked herself in the house, for God knows how long. Probably until she runs out of food," She said, rolling her eyes. "Bit of a drama queen, that one."

"Has anyone checked on her at all?" Delilah asked, a bit worriedly. She had never been that close with Mara, but from what she could remember, she was a pretty decent person.

"I stopped by a couple of days after it happened… but she wouldn't let me inside," She explained. "She was a nervous wreck, though. Acted a little bit strangely, too, if you ask me."

"Strange how?" Delilah asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

Violet made a thoughtful face, and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "I donno… she was just really… jittery, nervous looking, avoiding eye contact and whatnot," she said, and when Delilah made a face, she continued, "I know what you're thinking, but there's no way that Mara killed Cayla. You remember how they were, right? Best friends… pretty much inseparable, even as adults. Mara would never do something like that."

"You're probably right," Delilah nodded in agreement. "But it's still a bit strange, how you said she was acting, don't you think?" Delilah tried very hard to make her questions subtle, so not to influence Violet into thinking she was buckets of crazy.

"Totally," Violet nodded. "I tried asking her about it… tried to see how she was doing, how she was handling the whole thing… but she muttered something about toast and slammed the door right in my face."

Delilah tried to keep a serious face, tried not to laugh. "Toast?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," She said, shaking her head as a grin tugged at the edges of her mouth.

After that, they didn't bring up the murders again for a while. They spent half an hour at the most, catching up and talking about their lives. That part of the conversation caused Delilah to lie, a lot, of course, but she did it knowing it was for Violet's safety, therefore she did it without guilt.

"Well, this place isn't _too_ shabby," Violet said, glancing around as Delilah made them some microwave pizza rolls. "It was your uncle's place, right?"

The microwave beeped loudly. "Yeah, when he died he left it to me, along with all the money that he had, so I fixed it up as best I could. It's not fancy, I know, but it's home to me," She said, pulling the plate out of the microwave and bringing it with her into the living room where Violet sat.

When Violet asked her what her job was, Delilah almost choked on her drink. She cleared her throat. She was used to thinking on her feet. "I used to waitress at that little diner a couple of streets down. Earl's Diner? You probably passed by it on the way here. I saved up a pretty good bit of money working there, and now I'm taking some college classes online and trying to get into nursing." She finished, smiling and popping a pizza roll into her mouth, a bit proud of herself at how believable that lie had sounded.

Violet sounded convinced. "Well that's great!" She smiled. She looked up at the clock on the living room wall and frowned, sighing. "Well… I'd better head home now. I have like a five or six hour drive back home, and work in the morning. I just… I just thought you should know about what's happening back home. I didn't know if you'd forgotten about our little old town," She said, forcing a faint smile.

"I could _never _forget that place," Delilah replied quietly. It was as honest as she had been the entire evening.

Violet stood from the couch and hugged Delilah. "Give me a call sometime, okay?" She said as she went for the door. That's when Delilah stopped her.

"I'm coming with you."

Violet looked surprised. "You're… you're what?"

"You heard me," Delilah said. "I wanna make sure you get home okay, and after all, I could use a little break from this place."

"You're serious?" Violet asked. "Don't you think it'll bring back some bad memories?"

"I don't think it will, I _know _it will. I promised myself I'd never go back there… for obvious reasons… but something's telling me I should pay our "old little town" a visit." She said.

Violet waited downstairs watching television as Delilah packed. It didn't take long; all she packed was a couple changes of clothes, toothbrush and other personal things, her laptop and phone charger, and of course, a couple of weapons. That had been the main reason Delilah had asked Violet to wait downstairs as she packed; even though they had once been best friends, she knew it was best to avoid Violet's reaction of seeing Delilah packing a gun and a couple of knives into a duffle bag. Yes, that had definitely been a good call.

When she was done, she grabbed her car keys off her dresser and headed back downstairs. "I'm ready," She said, "I'll take my car and follow you there."

Violet hopped up from the couch, turning off the television. "Okey dokey," She said, and out the door they went.


	5. Home Town Friendly

_Chapter Five._

"_Home Town Friendly"_

_**Welcome to Rutherford County, North Carolina.**_

_**Home Town Friendly.**_

Delilah caught herself glaring at the faded green sign on the side of the road as she took a right onto the exit. She shook her head and returned her stare back in front of her. She didn't see Violet's car anymore, which meant she was probably a couple minutes ahead of her now; but Delilah wasn't worried. She knew where she was now, and Violet had given her the address of her new house. She drove a couple more miles, and curiosity got the best of her as she approached a very familiar intersection. She stopped at the stop sign and contemplated her choices. Going straight would lead her into town, where she could grab a bite to eat and then meet Violet at her house, turning left would take her to the middle of nowhere part of town, and the road on the right was where she spent the first sixteen years of her life. Although she had swore to herself that she would go nowhere near that house ever again, she had also once promised herself that she would never step foot in this _town _again, but apparently, that wasn't going along as planned, so she turned right. She couldn't help but wonder what the years had done to it. Ten years had gone by; was anyone living in it now?

She glanced up from the road as she drove, taking in the familiar surroundings. Trees, a couple small houses, some more trees. As she reached the next few houses, she slowed down. The white doublewide trailer that had belonged to her neighbors looked like it was now owned by someone else. "Ah well, didn't like them anyway," She thought aloud. She slowed to a stop in front of the next house. _The_ house. Where what used to be a gorgeous three bedroom doublewide with flawless tan sidings, now stood, what she guessed, would have to be the most pathetic excuse for a house she had ever seen. The grass in the front yard looked knee high, if not higher, and windows were broken, and the dark green shutters hung loosely to the side. She didn't even want to look in the backyard to see how much more pathetic it could get. She put the car back in drive, and slowly pulled away from the side of the road. There was now a sick feeling in her stomach; she didn't feel like sticking around there any longer. She turned the car around, and headed towards town.

She stopped by Bojangles and got a chicken sandwich, eating it on the way. It was half past eleven at night when she pulled up into the steep driveway up to Violet's house and parked the car next to Violet's tan colored, two-door Chrysler Sebring LXI. She pulled the heavy duffel bag out of the backseat by its strap, and slung it over her shoulder, walking up to the quaint little home. Violet was waiting on the porch at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over her chest. "Took you long enough," She smirked.

"Sorry, I was hungry," Delilah replied with a shrug as she walked up the pathway towards the house. "So you're okay with me staying here, right? I mean, there's a motel just down the road, I could stay there-" She said when she reached the top of the stairs.

But Violet interrupted her, shaking her head. "Nonsense. Seriously, it's no problem. And besides, that place is just downright creepy, and gross. Really gross. You wouldn't have wanted to stay there," she laughed, opening the front door and leading her inside the house. She flipped on the light switch.

"Not bad, Vee," Delilah said, grinning as she let her eyes explore the living room. The walls were painted a tan, almost caramel color. It was a very simple room, decorated with a couple of pictures here and there, an entertainment unit, a maroon colored couch and a matching loveseat. There was also a small fireplace in the far corner of the room, unlit. "Not bad at all."

"Thanks," Violet said, dropping her purse on the end table next to the loveseat and showing Delilah around the house. When they reached the hallway, Violet swung the door open to one of the rooms and led her inside. It was a small room, occupied with only a few items of furniture; a queen sized bed, a nightstand and a lamp, a small armchair, and a wardrobe. Delilah dropped the heavy bag into the arm chair and turned towards Violet. "Thanks again for letting me stay here, Vee. I know we haven't talked in like, ten years, but I just wanted to let you know I still think of you as my best friend."

Violet smiled. "Get some rest, Dee."

Delilah nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you too. It's been a long day."

And with that, Violet shut the door. It had been a little over a five hour drive from Virginia, and Delilah was worn-out. Without bothering to change into pajamas, she turned off the light and crawled into bed. First thing in the morning she planned pay a certain Mara Ramsey a visit, she was sure about that.

_xx_

She awoke sometime around seven the next morning, the scent of scrambled eggs and bacon filling the home. She quickly crept down the hallway with a change of clothes in her hands and took a quick shower. After she dried herself off, she changed into the long sleeved black top and faded jeans and left the bathroom. She found Violet sitting on the couch, still in her pajamas, watching something on television. "Television this time of day is terrible," She commented, looking up as Delilah entered the room. "Oh hi. Bacon and eggs are on the counter, help yourself."

"Yum," Delilah said quietly, and stepped into the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a plate of scrambled eggs and a few slices of bacon, right next to a tall glass of orange juice. She ate the food quickly, and cleaned the plate, along with the rest of the dishes, in the sink, and met Violet again in the living room. "So I'm thinking of going to Mara's house and try to see what's up with her… where exactly does she live now?"

Violet thought for a moment. "You remember where the old Sunshine was, right?" Delilah nodded. "Well you turn left down that road, go a couple miles or so, and a couple houses before that gas station is a nice house. There'll be a red truck parked out front. You should be able to find it easily," She said.

"Thanks Vee. I'll be back in a little while."

Violet nodded and smiled, standing up from the couch. "I probably won't be here when you get back, though, so I'll leave the door unlocked. I'm about to go take a shower now and get ready for work."

"Oh yes, work. Well have fun with that," Delilah chuckled.

"Have fun getting Mara Ramsey's front door slammed in your face," She responded.

Delilah laughed. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

It didn't take Delilah long to find the old elementary school, or well, the place it used to stand. They had torn it down sometime before she moved away, to build a new, "innovative" one of the same name, right in the space next to where the old school had been. She hated that they did that. The old school was perfectly fine, in her eyes, at least. Sure, it was nearly a hundred years old, at the least, and was probably a gigantic deathtrap to anyone who would step inside, but it was familiar to her. Some of the only good memories she had of this town was centered around that school. She passed by the new school, and took a left. She drove for a couple of miles until she spotted the red truck parked outside a decent looking, two story house. She pulled into the driveway, parked behind the truck, and got out of the car, approaching the house.

She stepped onto the porch, and rang the doorbell. Inside the house, Mara immediately jumped to her feet, alert, and crept towards the window, spying through the blinds. Her eyes were bloodshot due to lack of sleep, and her short mocha brown hair was stringy and unkempt. She walked toward the door and opened it ajar. "Yes?"

"Hello, Mara. Remember me?" Delilah asked, forcing a friendly smile.

She shook head slowly. "Sorry, no."

"Well, I don't blame you. It's… been a while. My name is Delilah Winters. I used to go to school with you in elementary and middle school."

Mara nodded. "I remember you now," She said softly. "Why are you here?" Her voice was scratchy.

"I heard about what happened to Cayla. Actually, Violet drove all the way to Roanoke to let me know about all that's been happening. I was really worried, not only about you, but about everyone here that I used to know… so I decided to stop by your place, see how you were handling the whole thing," Delilah explained.

Mara's eyes hardened, looking away. "Well, I'm fine. My best friend is dead, but I'm fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to do," She said, as she started to close the door.

Delilah placed her hand on the door and put her weight on it, preventing Mara from closing it. "You haven't left this house in weeks. What could you possibly have to do that is as important as catching up with an old friend?"

"We were never _friends, _Delilah," Mara said bitterly, at this point annoyed. She tried to close the door again, but it wouldn't budge, and Delilah wasn't letting go.

Delilah shrugged. "You're right. We weren't friends. But we grew up together, basically. I realize that we were never close, but there was never a point in my existence that I hated you, and I'm pretty sure that goes for you, too."

Mara's glare softened, and the frown disappeared. "Sorry I was rude. But honestly, there's nothing you can say that will make me feel any better about this whole messed up situation, so I think it's best to get out of this town as fast you can, and never look back."

Delilah let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, that's not exactly working out as planned," When Mara made a puzzled face, Delilah continued. "I left this town ten years ago, and I had no intention of ever coming back. But… when I heard about the murders, I just… I kinda had to. Long story. All these deaths happening in such a short period of time, and of all these people I knew… it was just a little too _strange_ to ignore." She tried to emphasize the word 'strange'.

Mara's eyes widened a little. "_Strange?_"

Delilah nodded. "Yeah, strange. I mean, when was the last time a serial killer stormed through this little town and took down a bunch of girls in their twenties? Something else has to be going on, don't you think?"

"I think you should leave," Mara said quietly, avoiding Delilah's stare.

Delilah sighed, feeling impatient. "Look, I know you know something, and you know that I know that you know something, so let's just avoid this whole argument, and you can either let me in, and we can talk about this, or you can slam the door in my face and live the rest of your days in this house, alone and scared while the rest of this town dies one by one. What'll it be?"

Mara's eyes were as wide as ever as she stepped aside and let Delilah inside the house.


	6. Posession

_Chapter Six._

"_Possession"_

Bad Company blared from the speakers as the 1967 Chevrolet Impala slowed down and pulled into a parking space in front of a Budget Inn. The music silenced as Dean Winchester took the key out, and slid out from behind the wheel, grabbing the McDonalds bag from the empty passenger seat. He stuck the motel key into the lock, and turned it, opening the door to find Sam, laying on the bed typing away on his laptop. "Hey, geekboy, take a break from the research for once and eat somethin'," He teased, tossing his brother a sandwich from the bag. Sam's reflexes were quick, as he reached his arm up effortlessly and caught the burger.

"Thanks," He murmured, unwrapping it, taking a bite, and returning his eyes back to his computer screen. _Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap._

Dean took a bite of his own burger, and then sat it back down on its wrapper, walking over to Sam. He peered over at the computer screen curiously. "Find anything even remotely interesting? I'm dying to go on a hunt; we've been stuck at this crap motel for two weeks."

Sam shook his head, his eyes still glued to the screen. "I donno… only thing I've found so far is couple of dead bodies in some small town in North Carolina…"

"And…?"

Sam clicked the keyboard a couple of times, and then scrolled down the page a bit. "One girl was shot in her home, one girl committed suicide, another girl's throat was slashed open, and the most recent one, was stabbed to death in her home."

Dean arched a brow. "Whoa, sounds like a _real _friendly town… and when did that all start?"

"A month ago," Sam replied.

Dean shrugged again. "Well, it's worth looking into, don't you think?"

Sam closed the laptop. "I guess so."

_xx_

When Delilah stepped into Mara Ramsey's home, the first thing she noticed was the sloppy lines of salt that ran across the windowsill of every window and the line of salt a couple of feet in front of the door, surrounding it completely. _Well, that clears up why she's acting so weird, _she thought, turning around to face Mara as she was closing the door softly behind them.

"I like how you've decorated the place. The salt really… brings out the color of the, er, drapes," Delilah said, smirking a little, but the comment was ignored as Mara spoke.

"Would you like something to drink?" Mara asked quietly, looking away.

"Water's fine," She replied, following Mara into the kitchen. Despite all of the salt here and there, the house was rather neat, which didn't surprise her that much; Mara had always been a perfectionist, even when she was younger. Mara pulled a cup out of the cabinet. "Ice?" She offered, her voice still near a whisper.

"Sure."

There was the momentary sound of ice clanking into the empty glass, followed by the water. Mara turned around and handed Delilah the glass.

"Thanks."

Without a word, Mara led her into the living room where they sat down on the midnight blue suede couch. She cleared her throat. "What do you want to know?" She asked, her voice returning to its normal volume.

"Why don't you just start with the night Cayla was killed," Delilah said.

Mara nodded, leaning back and crossing her arms across her chest as she began to speak. "Cayla and I spent most of the day shopping, and when it got dark, we said goodbye, and both started to go home. The last thing I remember was standing outside my car in the parking lot, waving to Cayla," She said, looking down at the carpet.

"And then, lemme guess, you were jumped by a bunch of black smoke?" She asked, despite already knowing what the answer would be.

And sure enough, Mara raised her head slowly and nodded. "Yes," She said quietly. "It… somehow took over my body, and followed Cayla home. I s-saw it… I was still there, inside my own mind, when it showed up in Cayla's kitchen, but I didn't have control over my own body," Her voice was shaky as she continued. "I… I mean, it… the demon, it picked up a piece of broken glass from the floor and…I screamed and screamed and screamed, over and over again, but nothing came out. When… when the smoke left, and I came to… Cayla was dead. There was blood everywhere. All over the kitchen floor, all over Cayla… and all over me. And then I…" She trailed off, looking away as tears formed in her brown eyes.

"Yes?"

Mara looked up, her face cold and expressionless as she wiped away the tears. "And then I left. I picked up the broken glass, took it with me as I walked home. When I got home, I washed the glass off and buried it in my backyard, all while it was pouring down rain. Then I burned my bloodied clothes in the fireplace, and stayed up all night, researching demons, possession, and all that stuff."

"And that's when you found out about the salt."

The young brunette nodded. "I know it sounds insane… and well, maybe I am crazy."

Delilah shook her head. "No, you're not. I believe you."

Mara furrowed her brows. "How come? I sound like a friggen lunatic."

Delilah chuckled. "Mara, my family was killed by a demon. I went to live with my uncle in Virginia, who taught me how to kill vampires, how to exorcise demons, and how to properly load a shotgun with rocksalt, and then, when I was finally trying to live a normal life, I was possessed, and killed my fiancé. I don't think that exactly qualifies for normal, so tell me, why in the world would I _not _believe you?"

"Good point."


	7. KFC Superhero

_Chapter Seven._

_"Kentucky Fried Chicken Superhero?"_

Ignoring the yellow crime scene tape that surrounded Cayla Davis' home, Delilah made her way around the house and stepped upon the back porch. After picking the lock on the back door, she walked inside, scrunching her nose in disgust as she stepped into the kitchen. The smell seemed to be coming from the sink of filthy dishes, and the bowl of rotting fruits on the counter. She examined the room carefully. If Mara was telling the truth about being possessed, which, she knew she wouldn't lie about something like that, there had to be traces of sulfur somewhere in the home, and sure enough, there it was. She kneeled down on the linoleum floor, swiping a finger across the pale yellow substance that had caught her eye, and smelled it. It was most definitely sulfur.

When Sam and Dean arrived in town later that evening, they settled in at a Budget Inn, and unpacked their things in the room that they would be sharing for the next few days.

Dean's stomach grumbled loudly, so loudly, in fact, that he couldn't help but wonder if the people next door could hear it through the paper thin walls of the cheap motel. "I'm gonna go get some food. Want anything?" He asked his brother, who had already, once again, pulled out his laptop and was looking up the addresses of the latest victims.

Sam nodded, his blue eyes not straying from the glowing computer screen. "Yeah."

"Okie dokie, I'll be back in a little while," He said, putting on his jacket and grabbing the car keys on the way out the door.

Dean drove the Impala with ease into the parking space, and then walked inside of the KFC. After placing his order, he made himself comfortable in one of the booths near the back of the restaurant, as he waited for his food. Other than himself, there was an older couple sitting at one of the booths, a family of four occupying one of the tables, and an anxious looking young man sitting alone a couple of tables over.

His attention turned over to the entrance, where two young women had just stepped through the door. They were both smiling and talking as they approached the register. Dean looked them over, subtly, of course. They both seemed to be in their mid-twenties. One of them was much taller than the other, and had bright red hair pulled up messily into a ponytail. Even though she was smiling, she seemed very tired. The other one's hair was somewhat wavy, and was a light shade of brown. He couldn't really tell from a distance, but he guessed that her eyes were probably green, like his own. They both were not half bad looking; alright, they were pretty attractive. But was he really going to make a move on them in a KFC restaurant? He shrugged off the question in his mind, realizing that it was stupid. Of course he was going to make a move on them in a KFC restaurant.

As he stood from the booth, the young man at the table stood up abruptly, pulling a gun out from the pocket of his black hoodie. His back was turned to Dean, who did not see his eyes turn completely black as he aimed the weapon at the redhead.

Violet screamed, Delilah cursed under her breath. A smirk tugged on the young man's lips as he pulled the trigger, but Delilah was quick. She pushed Violet, who fell down onto the hard floor. The bullet hit the wall instead. Delilah let out a sigh of relief.

Dean tackled him, the gun clattering across the floor out of the man's reach. He looked up at Delilah, black flooding his eyes once again. "I'll be seeing you again soon. Really soon," He said, before the black smoke erupted from his mouth and disappeared. The remaining patrons of the restaurant had fled during the incident, screaming.

Dean got to his feet, looking down at the unconscious man, who otherwise seemed unharmed. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open and he looked around. "What's going on?" He asked, sitting up. He squinted his eyes. "Violet…. Delilah, is that you?"

She helped the panic-stricken Violet up, and then turned to face him. "Hey, Justin."

Dean was baffled at her calmness during the entire situation. "Are you okay?" He asked the young man.

He nodded. "I…I think so."

Dean then looked at Violet. "You good?"

"I just got shot at while trying to get some fricken' Kentucky Fried Chicken. I'm fantastic." She snapped. "What the heck was that?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"You really don't want to know," He said, a hint of humor in his voice.

The sentence had caught Delilah off guard. She watched the man suspiciously as he helped Justin up off the floor. Violet was still, for all intensive purposes, freaking out, which was understandable, and Delilah was not at all interested in sticking around to deal with the police. "I'll drive you home, Justin," she said, although still watching Dean perceptively, not taking her eyes off of him. Dean noticed this.

"Thanks," Justin said quietly, walking with her and Violet to the exit.

_xx_

After Delilah dropped off the confused Justin at his house, she and Violet rode home in silence. Delilah was 99.9% sure that the man from KFC was following her, and even more sure that he was a hunter, or at least someone who knew about this sort of thing. The "you really don't want to know," and the manner in which he said it, was a dead giveaway.

Oh, how she dreaded explaining all of this to Violet.

_xx_

Delilah walked with Violet up the steps of the front porch. "I'll be right in," She told her. Violet walked inside, closing the door behind her, just in time for the black '67 Impala to pull up in front of the house. Delilah couldn't help but admire the car, despite the situation.

Arms crossed, she approached the man who had gotten out of the vehicle. "Thanks for what you did back there… tackling him. You saved my friend's life, and probably mine. I appreciate it."

Dean shrugged. "It's what I do."

"Yeah… about that," She said, getting to the point. "Do you travel around the world from KFC to KFC to save people from random violence, like some kind of Kentucky Fried Chicken Superhero? Or is there something else going on here?" She was somewhat surprised that she didn't burst into laughter after the words Kentucky Fried Chicken Superhero had left her mouth.

"You tell me."

"I think we both know what I'm talking about."

"I think you're right."

After a few moments of silence, Delilah held out her hand. "Delilah."

"Dean," He said, and shook her hand.

"Winters," She said, letting go.

"Winchester."

"Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester."

"Likewise," He nodded.

"Phone?" She said, holding out her hand.

Dean looked confused. "Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Gimme your phone so I can put my number in."

He was a little taken aback from her bluntness, but pulled his phone out from his pocket anyway and handed it to her as she continued.

"My best friend is currently inside that house freaking out about what just happened, and probably wanting an explanation, so I'm going to have to go inside and explain all of this crap to her, hoping that she doesn't call me insane and throw me out on my butt, so I don't exactly have the time to stand around talking about the demon problem in this town." She typed in her number quickly, and then handed the device back to Dean. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a best friend to traumatize."

Before Dean knew it, Delilah was inside the house. He stood there for a moment, eyebrows raised, before he returned to the Impala and drove back to the motel to tell Sam about what had happened.


	8. The Truth

_Chapter Eight._

"_The Truth"_

"Dean?" Sam said a couple of moments after his brother walked into the motel room.

"What?" The older, yet shorter Winchester replied, tossing the car keys on the key rack.

"Dude, I'm starving. I thought you were getting food?" He gestured to Dean's empty hands as his stomach growled loudly. "You've been gone for over an hour."

Dean made a mockingly sympathetic face. "Oh, I'm so sorry. It's just… I was a little preoccupied with stopping a demon from blowing somebody's brains out in the middle of a restaurant and whatnot. But by all means, worry about food."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "What? There's a demon in town?"

"Yahtzee"

"Enlighten me, please."

"I was in KFC, when outta nowhere some dude pulled out a gun and tried to shoot some chick. I tackled the guy, and his eyes went black. Then there was a bunch of black smoke, and it was gone."

"Wow… who was he trying to kill?"

Dean shrugged. "Some redheaded chick, I forgot to get her name. But I _did _get her friend's phone number."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Really? Dean? Some poor girl almost gets shot and you start hitting on her friend? That's really nice, Dean. Maybe next time we exorcise a kill happy demon, you can take the traumatized woman it possessed out for dinner?"

"I'm offended that you'd say that, Sammy," He grinned before he continued. "But I didn't hit on either of them, as hot as they were…" His voice trailed off, looking distracted.

Sam snapped his fingers in front of Dean's face. "Dude, focus. Was that all that happened? Did the demon say anything?"

"I was getting to that."

"Well get to it, then."

Dean glared. "The demon said something to Delilah, the girl's friend. _I'll be seeing you soon, _or something like that. Anyway, it knew her. And after the demon left, it turns out they knew the guy it was possessing. I'm betting that's the case for all the other vics. Demon possesses someone, kills someone that the person is close to, and so on."

"Makes sense," Sam said, "But why?"

Dean shrugged. "No idea. Maybe that's just what it does. Maybe it has something to do with revenge. I don't know. But it has something to do with Miss Delilah Winters, we know that for sure."

_xx_

Delilah stepped into Violet's small home, preparing herself for the worst. Violet was pacing back and forth in the living room, and when she realized Delilah was now there, her expression turned to a combination of confusion and anger.

"Could you please explain to me _what_ just happened?" She said, her voice going up a pitch.

Delilah sighed. "I could… but I don't think you really want to know. And you'd probably feel much more sane if you didn't know. Your choice."

"After what just happened, I don't think sane is really an option anymore, Dee," She said, all in one breath. "You stood there the whole time, while God knows what was happening, and you didn't even flinch. There's something about you that you're not telling me. We were best friends once, I know when you're hiding something from me."

"Fine, but you might want to sit down for this, and I'm warning you, you're probably going to think I'm insane, psychotic, etcetera, but it's all the truth. I have no reason to lie to you."

Violet sat down on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be the couch. "Okay," She said, unsteadily.

"No interruptions, or random outbursts of "You're insane!" are we clear?" Delilah asked, as she sat down next to her.

Without a word, Violet gulped and nodded, and Delilah began.

"So, you're telling me that Justin… was possessed?" Violet said, trying to take all of the information in as she paced back and forth in front of the couch Delilah was sitting on. She had been doing that for the last ten minutes, repeating questions, pacing, repeating questions, and a little more pacing. Delilah thought she was taking it pretty well; no one was screaming, or backing away uneasily, or throwing anyone in an insane asylum.

Delilah nodded.

"And… Mara was too?"

Delilah nodded again.

"So that explains all of the murders, but why? Why would a demon come to this small town and kill off all these girls?"

Delilah laughed humorlessly. "Vee, apparently you don't understand the concept of demons. They're, well, evil. They jump from one body to the next, massacring families, destroying lives. It's what they do for fun."

"Wow," Violet said finally, as she stopped pacing and sat down on the couch next to Delilah. "I can't believe all that time, _this _is what you've been doing. I was mad at you for all those years, because you left without saying a word to me or any of your friends… but now I get it."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Delilah said suddenly, reaching into the pockets of her jeans and pulling out a necklace. She handed it to Violet. "Put this on."

Violet laughed. "What is this, some kind of strange best friend necklace?" She said as she put it around her neck.

"It'll keep you from being possessed. Last thing I need right now is for you to go all Paranormal Activity on me," She chuckled.

"What about you?" She said, gesturing to Delilah's plain neck. "You're not wearing one."

Delilah shuffled around on the couch a bit, turning her back slightly to Violet as she pulled her long hair up from her neck. A small, strange symbol was tattooed on the back of her neck in black. She let her hair fall back down and turned back around. "I'm good," She smiled.

Violet shook her head, arching a brow. "That keeps you from being possessed?"

"It's a brave new world."


	9. Two More Victims

_Chapter Nine._

_"Homicidal Housewife"_

The following day was rather uneventful for the three hunters. There wasn't much that they _could _do: at the moment it was all a matter of waiting to see if the demon would rear it's ugly head again. Delilah spent most of the day driving around town, visiting old friends and enemies, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. She'd slip some holy water in their drink when their back was turned, maybe mutter "christo." But no reaction, from any of them, except arched eyebrows to the questions she asked. It seemed that for now, the demon was laying low, and for Delilah, that just spelled trouble.

That afternoon, however, the uneventful day turned into a tragic one when Delilah received a phone call from a very upset Violet. "Calm down. Vee, I can barely understand a word you're saying. Wait, what?" Delilah froze for a moment as she made out the words "Justin… dead…" from the rest of Violet's blubbering nonsense. "Violet, stay where you are, I will be right there. I'm going to bring someone who can help me, and we will stop this once and for all, I swear," she assured her, before quickly hanging up and dialing Dean Winchester's number. She normally tried to not involve herself with other hunters when it came to her cases; she was the type to work alone and trust no one. But despite all that, she was over her head with this case, and she knew it.

The black '67 Chevy Impala pulled up in front of the Hamrick home just in time to see the ambulance and coroner drive away, and a distraught young brunette woman being handcuffed and sat in the back of a Rutherford County police car. "I didn't do it, I swear, it wasn't me! I didn't kill him!" Her screams were muffled as the officer rolled his eyes and slammed the back door closed. Sam and Dean got out of the car and walked over to him. "What happened? We heard a friend of ours just got murdered," Sam said as they approached him. The officer sighed.

"Crazy woman, came at her husband with a shovel in the backyard," He replied, shaking his head. "Poor guy, I knew him, too. Went to school with his parents. She says she didn't do it, but we've got a witness who says differnt," he pointed over to the redhead sitting on the porch next to Delilah, and then walked away.

Sam and Dean nodded and walked up to the porch. "You're… Violet, right? We met yesterday," Dean said. Violet lifted her head up slowly, and nodded. Her face, that was slightly paler than usual, was stained with tears and partly speckled with small red dots of blood. "I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother, Sam. We're hunters, like your friend Delilah, here. Do you think you could you tell us what you saw?"

Delilah stood up quickly, grabbing Dean's arm and pulling him aside, lowering her voice as she spoke. "I think my friend has talked about her cousin's murder quite enough for one day, Dean, she needs to go home and rest."

Dean's eyes widened a little. "Justin was her cousin?"

Delilah nodded. "She said she came over to have dinner with him and his wife, Andrea. He was grilling some steaks, and she and Andrea were on the swing, just talking. Next thing she knows, Andrea gets up, grabs a shovel, and hacks her darling husband to pieces right there on the back patio."

"And then, lemme guess, there was a bunch of black smoke and the wifey-poo goes back to normal?"

"Yeah," She said with a nod. "Well, as normal as possible. She was always pretty unstable," She said, rolling her eyes, "But not 'butcher your husband with a shovel' unstable."

Dean arched a brow. "So you knew her then? Just like you happened to know the rest of the victims?"

Delilah backed away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. "What are you saying? That I have something to do with any of this? This is a demon problem, remember, and I'm not possessed. I came here because my best friend needed me, and that's it."

"All I'm saying is a lot of people you know keep dying. And you heard that demon last night, it knew you."

The brunette shook her head, glaring at him as she started to walk back to Violet, "Go to hell, Winchester."

"No," He stopped her, pulling her by her arm back to where they had been standing talking. "There is something that you aren't tell me. Why does this demon know you, and why does everyone that you know keep showing up dead?"

"I've known you for barely a day, Dean, I hardly think that I owe you my life story."

"You asked for mine and Sam's help, but we can help you unless you're being honest with us," He said with a shrug.

She sighed and looked away, then back at him. "We both want the same thing, here, okay? I want this demon dead, and so do you. So let's find it, and send its sorry ass back to where it came from, because I would _like_ to stop having to make house calls to my dead friends at the morgue." She was quiet a moment. "Look, my past? It's none of your business, okay? So either drop it, or get out of town and let me handle this. " She walked away from him, and this time, he didn't stop her.

_xx_

Outside, thunder boomed loudly and rain poured steadily on the roof of the home as Violet Lovelace pulled the necklace over her head and hung it on the edge of the bathroom mirror, She pulled her short bright red hair into a messy ponytail, turning on the faucet. She let her trembling palms fill with liquid, and then she splashed the cold water on her face. She returned her hands under the running water, rinsing her face off again. And again, and again, and again.

She sighed and turned the knob off, grabbing a hand towel from the shelf next to the sink, drying her face off and tossing the towel in the hamper.

Meanwhile, Delilah sleepily dragged herself down the hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. She was wearing a white tank top, baggy plaid pajama bottoms, and a pair of Hello Kitty slippers that she had borrowed from Violet. She poured herself a cup of sweet tea in the light of the open refrigerator, and sat it down on the counter as she pulled out a jar of shortbread cookies from the pantry.

"You still up, Dee?"

Delilah gasped in surprise at the sudden voice; the cookie jar slipped from her hands, but, thanks to her very quick reflexes, she caught it before it hit the ground. "Oh, hey, I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd get a snack. Did I wake you?" She smiled sympathetically at her friend as she sat the jar down on the counter next to the tea, and turned to close the fridge.

Violet flipped on the light switch, light flooding the small kitchen "No, I couldn't sleep either," the redhead replied, shaking her head. "Just getting some water."

Delilah grabbed a couple of cookies out of the jar, laying them on the counter beside the glass of tea as she placed the jar back in the pantry. She hopped onto the counter and nibbled on one of the cookies, washing it down with the refreshing cold tea. "I know this is a stupid question, and I know you don't want to talk about it, but how are you doing, Vee?"

Violet said nothing as she drifted trough the kitchen. She approached the counter, tilting her head as she eyed the knife rack, her eyes distant and cold. And then they were black. "I'm super," She said with a wide grin.

Before she had a chance to hop down from the counter and run, her possessed friend snatched the large steak knife and the cold steel sliced into the thigh of Delilah's leg. She cried out in pain and kicked at Violet with her unharmed leg. Violet fell back on the linoleum for a moment, and Delilah took the opportunity to jump down from the counter. Clutching her throbbing right leg with her hand, she could feel the blood soaking through her fingers, dripping to the floor as she stumbled through the living room, staining the tan colored carpet. Violet did not make any sudden movements, no did she quicken her pace as she followed the faltering Delilah into the living room. She merely twirled the blade around in her hand as she walked.

Outside, the Impala pulled into Violet's driveway. The windows were rolled down, letting the cool night air send a breeze through the vehicle in which Sam and Dean sat. "Why exactly are we here, Dean? Let's just go grab some food and head back to the motel."

"I told you already, Sammy. I think Delilah's friend could be in danger… you know, the redhead."

"Her name is Violet, Dean."

"Whatever, you know how I am with names," Dean said with a shrug.

Sam snickered. "Well you seem to be remembering Delilah's name pretty well, that's all I'm saying," he said, shaking his head.

"Shut up, Sam."

They both exchanged glances as they heard the screams coming from the home, and quickly got out of the vehicle, clutching their weapons.

When they stepped inside, they saw that Violet was on top of Delilah, pinning her down. When she was aware of Sam and Dean's presence, she smirked and turned her head to look at them, her eyes turning black again. "Would you lookee here, it's the Winchesters. Isn't this a pleasant surprise." She then looked back down at Delilah. "Well, this has been _fun_, really. But I should probably be going now. Don't get too comfortable, though, I'll be back," She said, and held the knife in the air above her head with both hands.

Delilah prepared herself for the impact, but it never came.

The demon smirked one last time before bringing the knife down and stabbing, not Delilah's chest, but her own. She winked, twisting the knife a bit, and then black smoke erupted from Violet's mouth, until all of it was gone. Violet wavered for a moment, looking down at the knife that protruded from her chest, blood soaking the front of her shirt. She collapsed sideways off Delilah onto the floor.


	10. Morgan

_Chapter Ten._

"_Morgan"_

The minutes felt like hours as Delilah sat on her dead best friend's couch, waiting on Sam and Dean to return from burning the corpse out in the woods behind the house. The rain had finally died down, giving them a chance to do so. She knew that Violet deserved an actual funeral where all her loved ones would come and say their goodbyes, but she knew it was too risky. Violet died a violent death, and given her luck, she would probably come back as a vengeful spirit and make more of a mess of this town than it already was, so they had to do what was necessary.

She scratched absentmindedly at the bandage wrapped around the thigh of her leg. The wound wasn't that severe, but it still had needed to be stitched up, which "Nurse Sam," as Dean had called him, volunteered to do. Her eyes wandered over to the small patch of blood on the carpet where Violet had fallen, her mind flashing back to ten years ago; she had the same sick feeling in her gut, the same blank, teary eyed expression on her face. Now she knew for certain. The demon that had killed her mom and her brother, the same one that possessed her five years ago, was back. It was going to kill everyone she knew, and then it was going to kill her. Unless she sent it back where it came from.

The rain began to pound on the roof again, and the sound of the front door being opened snapped her out of her daze. She looked up to see Sam and Dean stepping through the door, soaked from head to toe. "It's done," Sam said quietly, looking over at Delilah sympathetically. She just nodded.

_xx_

Not long after that, Sam and Dean had left, claiming they were going to head back to their motel for the night, and if she needed anything, she had their number. They then suggested she get out of there as soon as possible and settle into a motel as well for the night. She knew they were right, it wouldn't do anyone any good if she stayed here and wallowed in her misery and then got herself killed, which is why she was now in her room, quickly packing her things in her suitcase and doing a quick last minute check around the house to make sure she didn't leave anything behind that could be traced back to her. Her and Violet's blood stains in the carpet, however, she couldn't do much about them.

She had just changed out of her bloodstained clothes, pulled her long hair into a ponytail, and was zipping up her duffle bag when there was a bright flash of lightning, and then the power went out. Delilah cursed under her breath and fumbled for the strap of the bag, picking it and slinging it over her shoulder as she walked blindly out of the room and through the pitch black house. After stubbing her toe, nearly walking flat into a wall, and knocking over a lamp, she reached the back door and stepped outside. Her dark boots trudged through the sloshy mud as she walked around the side of the house to the front driveway. By the time she reached her car, she was drenched and shivering. She threw her belongings carelessly in the backseat of the dark green '98 Mercury Mystique and let the door close with a slam that was drowned out by a loud crash of thunder.

She plopped down on the front seat, staring up at the house a few minutes through the rain splattered windshield, before finally ripping her eyes away, and starting the car.

Dean stepped out of the motel room and around the side of the building where the soda machines were, flipping open his phone and dialing the first number that came to mind.

"Yeah?" A gruff voice on the other line answered impatiently.

"Hey Bobby, sorry to bother you this late. We're in North Carolina and we ran into this chick hunter who was working the same case as us. Delilah Winters. Name ring a bell?"

"Winters… Winters…" The old hunter muttered. "I know a Tony Winters. Well, knew. Worked a case or two with him before he died a few years back. He wasn't much of a hunter, though, nearly got himself killed half the time. Only family he said he had left was a niece, she went to live with him after her family was killed… guessing that's your girl."

"Let me guess, her family was killed by a demon?"

There was a slight pause before Bobby spoke. "Yeah, how'd ya know?"

"Lucky guess." Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the soft fluttering of wings and a voice from behind him that nearly caused him to jump out of his skin.

"Dean."

Dean turned around quickly to see the trench coat wearing angel standing on the sidewalk by the vending machines. He rolled his eyes. "I'll call you back, Bobby," He said, and flipped the phone closed. "What are you doing here?"

"You are no longer needed here."

Dean arched a brow. "What are you talking about? There's a de-"

"The demon is gone," Castiel interrupted. "My superiors tell me that the demon responsible for the murders is no longer here, in town. She quickly acquired another vessel after killing Violet Lovelace, and left."

"Since you seem to know so much," Dean said, walking over to him. "Who is this demon, anyway and what does it have to do with Delilah Winters? They both seemed to have a pretty big beef with each other, and I donno, things just seem kind of off here."

"Yes, they do have some history," Castiel said with a nod. "Ten years ago, a demon by the name of Morgan broke into her home and murdered her mother and younger brother," He paused and then continued. "Five years later she was possessed by Morgan, and murdered her own fiancé."

Dean cursed under his breath. "Wow… That's why she didn't want to talk about it."

"I'd imagine she wouldn't," Castiel nodded again. "She left town shortly after the two of you left her alone."

"She left? Why?"

"It's possible the death of her friend was too overwhelming for her."

Dean's brows furrowed. "Okay… well, what's the deal with this demon? She your average black eyed skank who just wants to finish what she started?"

Castiel shook his head. "Morgan may be a demon, but she's been around long enough to have become very powerful and well-skilled at what she does. Not only that, but she's also working for Lilith."

"But why would Lilith care about wanting these people dead for? I mean, what's in it for her?"

Castiel shook his head. "We do not know why Morgan is working for Lilith, but we know she must be stopped. Killing people from Delilah's past is not the only thing she has planned. In the mean time, you and your brother are needed elsewhere. There is a witch planning to raise Samhain, and if she is not stopped, another seal will be broken."

"Sam who?" Dean arched a brow.

"Your brother will know," Castiel said. " Spirit Lake, Iowa. Go. You don't have much time."

_xx_

"Dean, do you really think we should waste any more time here?" Sam asked as Dean stepped back into the motel room. "We should be out there, trying to stop the friggen apocalypse, not trying to fix some random girl's demon problems," Sam sighed and sat up on the bed. "You said yourself, it's her past, her problem. I'm sure she's perfectly capable of handling this herself."

"Well, I just ran into Cas outside… turns out the demon _is_ tied into Delilah's past. In a big way. But Delilah skipped town, and so did the demon."

"Wait, so Delilah just left?"

"Looks that way," Dean shrugged. "But her best friend was just murdered, so I can't blame her for wanting some time alone."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Did Castiel say anything else?"

"Yeah, apparently the demon's pretty much BFF's with Lilith. Speaking of which, we gotta hit the road. Some seal is in danger of being broken, and Cas thinks we need to check it out," Dean said, picking up his duffle bag and starting to put his belongings in it. "I'll explain everything it on the way."

_**A/N: This chapter takes place right before the Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester in season four, and after this chapter ends, it skips past a month or two. It took me a while, but I finally decided when this story would take place, and came up with several ideas for the story. Sorry to the people that actually read this that it took so long for me to put up a new chapter! I lost all interest in this story for a while there, and the only thing I've been writing lately is a story with my friend Lauren (Chase The Dark Together). But fortunately I think I'll be getting back into writing this more often, hopefully. :)**_


	11. She's Coming Over Like A Suicide

_Chapter Eleven._

"_She's Coming Over Like A Suicide"_

_Stockport, Ohio._

_Two months later. _

.

Megan Chase locked her apartment door behind her as she stepped into the living room. She dropped her small black purse on the coffee table, and quietly explored the small, two bedroom apartment, making sure everything was the same as she had left it, and that she was alone. She had watched way too many horror movies in her twenty-three years of life to not be a little on the paranoid side. Convinced that she was alone, however, as her roommate was off spending a couple weeks at Myrtle Beach for the summer, she changed out of her work uniform and into some pajamas, curled up on the couch with a small tub of Cookies N' Cream ice cream, and picked up the remote, turning the television on and scrolling through the guide until she settled on a rerun of House, an episode that she had seen two or three times already. Ten minutes into the show, her home phone rang shrilly in its charger on the end table nearest to her. She checked the caller ID. Amber O'Shall. "Hello, roomie," She greeted the friend on the other line, putting it on speakerphone and setting it down next to her and she sunk into the couch lazily. "How's the beach? Having fun?" "Wonderful, of course. I really wish you had been able to come; it's beautiful out here. Not to mention there's cute guys, like, everywhere," She said with a giggle. "I met this one guy, Ashton. He's _soooo_ adorable. He's got messy, blonde hair, blue eyes, and he's just so sweet, and…"

"Mhm… yeah… He does sound cute, I'm totally jealous." She said, seeming a bit bored with the conversation already, twirling a loose string from her sweater around her index finger as Amber droned on.

"He _is! _I'll send you a pic later." Amber continued excitedly, apparently not noticing the dullness in Megan's voice. "How are things at home?"

"Things are fine here. A bit quiet and boring without you, but I'll live." A _bit _quiet and boring was definitely an understatement. All she had done during the entire summer was go to work, and then sit at home for the rest of the evening, watching television or wasting away hours on the internet. Outside of Amber, she didn't have that many close friends, so it's safe to say when her best friend/roommate is gone for nearly the whole summer, hundreds of miles away, having a blast without her, things tend to get a bit boring. It wasn't that she wanted her friend to have a lousy time... okay, maybe she did. But only just a little. Honestly, she was jealous. Amber was _the_ girl, you know, the popular one, the outgoing one, the rich one, the pretty one. For as long as Megan had known her, it had always been like that. They were so different, the two of them; some days she wondered how they had stayed friends for so long. "Still having those nightmares?" Amber asked after a moment or two of silence, concern apparent in her voice.

Megan was silent for a moment. "You mean the one with the scary-as-hell lady who keeps trying to kill me with giant scissors? Yeah, every night this week," She answered with a deep sigh. "They get even worse each time."

"Probably from all the horror movies you insist on watching by yourself. Seriously, watch a romantic comedy once in a while," She joked, trying to lighten the mood. "They're just dreams, Meg, just… just push them from your mind. Go out and have some fun tonight, you deserve it."

"I'm pretty worn out from work. I think I'm just gonna head to bed early tonight," She said, glancing up at the digital clock on her stereo that read 8:20 P.M.. "But thanks. I'll let you go now so you can hang out with…"

"Ashton," Amber finished.

"Right, Ashton. Talk to you later."

"'Kay, love ya. Get some rest."

"I'll try," Megan clicked end and put the phone back on its base. She stifled a yawn and stood up from the couch, powering the television off before she drifted off down the hallway to her bedroom. She had to be up bright and early the next morning, so going to bed early for once might do some good. She hated her job, she hated the hours, but she needed the pay. Unlike Amber's father, who was a successful lawyer who gave his daughter anything she'd ask for, including for money for rent every month, Megan's parents now had a very small role in her life, so she had no choice but to get a job. She walked into her dark, decent sized bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lamp as she crawled into her bed. Despite not being able to get images from the horrific nightmares out of her head, she fell asleep in a matter of minutes, curled up beneath the dark blue comforter.

_Megan stared at the young, beautiful woman who stood before her. She had fair, glowing skin, long dark brown hair, and a tall, thin figure. Megan blinked, and then stepped back suddenly, horrified, at the creature that had now replaced the woman. Her skeleton was protruding from rotting flesh, and her hair appeared to be falling out in many places. She gasped as the woman pulled out a large pair of closed shears, and walked toward her slowly. Megan tried to scream, but she couldn't find her voice. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn't move. The rotting woman smiled as she approached Megan with the shears. With one swift movement, she raised the weapon and-_

_Beep beep beep beep beep beep._ At precisely 5 A.M., the alarm clock on the nightstand beeped loudly, hastily waking her from her nightmare. Megan's heart was racing as she reached to silence the alarm. She took a moment to yawn and stretch before she finally, reluctantly, dragged herself out of bed. She grabbed a couple towels from the closet in the hallway and walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day. After showering and drying her hair, she examined her appearance in the large mirror that hung over the sink. Behind her stood the decomposing woman from her dreams, silver shears gleaming in the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. The mirror shattered suddenly as Megan screamed. She found herself unable to move as she woman grabbed for her arms, turning her around to face her. She held Megan's wrist so tight that she couldn't feel them anymore. With one hand, she kept a firm grip around Megan's wrist, and the other hand pulled out the large shears, bringing the tip of it to Megan's wrist and dragging it vertically down her arm, and then she did the same for the other wrist.

Megan cried out in pain, looking down at her wrists, her eyes wide as some of the blood flowed immediately into the palm of the woman's bony hand. Her rotting flesh began to grow back, returning to that of a normal, healthy young woman. After a moment, she let her go, and Megan fell weakly to the floor, whimpering slightly until she grew suddenly silent.

The woman grinned as she examined herself in the cracked mirror, and then disappeared.

_**A/N: Can you guess who the kill happy decomposing chick is, yet? I'll give you a hint; she's Hungarian, she existed in the 1500/1600s, and her weapon of choice is a pair of silver shears.I'll throw a shout out in the next update to whoever gets it right :3 This chapter was originally the beginning of a completely separate story, but I was brainstorming for ideas for this story, and instead of having two completely different stories, one that had a major plot and my own original character, and then one with a short plot that probably would only last a few chapters, I decided to combine the two of them.**_


	12. She's Coming Over Wearing Genocide

_Chapter Twelve._

"_She's Coming Over Wearing Genocide"_

Dean Winchester fidgeted with his tie as Sam knocked on the door. They were standing in the hallway outside of Megan Chase's and Amber O'Shall's apartment, dressed in their usual suit and tie getup. "I hate this thing, " He muttered. Sam rolled his eyes and ignored the comment as he knocked a second time.

In mid-knock, a blonde young woman answered the door. She was wearing black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and she smelled faintly of old pizza and popcorn. Her long hair, that looked as if it hadn't been washed in days, was pulled up messily into a ponytail, and her blue eyes were bloodshot. Dean raised an eyebrow, and exchanged a glance with Sam. "Amber O'Shall?"

She chewed on her bottom lip a moment, and nodded. "Ya… what do you want?"

Sam and Dean simultaneously held up their fake FBI badges, something they had grown used to after all the times of intimidating federal agents. This time it was Sam who spoke. "My name is Agent Gramm, and this is my partner, Agent Jones. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Megan Chase's death, if you don't mind."

She looked sadly down at the ground. "I already spoke to the police, and a couple of agents came over here yesterday…"

"We're just trying to be… very thorough," Dean said convincingly, as they put their badges away.

"It was a suicide. What more do you need to know?" She sighed. "Fine. But make it quick, I need to finish packing," She said, stepping aside to let them in.

Both the brothers raised their brows as they stepped inside and followed the young woman into the living room. "Packing? What for?" Sam asked. She gestured toward the couch for them to sit. There were boxes scattered and piled around the room, and they noticed most of the shelves and bookcases were empty. "I'm moving to my dad's. I can't bear to stay here, not after what happened to Megan. She was my friend… for years. And now she's gone."

Sam nodded. "That's understandable," He said as they sat down on the couch.

"So, Amber… who was it that actually found Megan?" Dean asked her as she sat down on the dark blue armchair across from the couch.

She sighed a little, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I did. I was away at Myrtle Beach for a couple weeks. I called her everyday to check up on her… that apartment can get a little lonely when no one's there… Anyway, I couldn't get in touch with her for a couple of days, and I was getting really worried, so I came home… and there she was. The bathroom mirror looked like it had been smashed… and there Megan was… laying on the floor. I…" She started to choke up. "I- I never thought she would do something like that. She wasn't the happiest person in the world but killing herself?" She sniffled. "There's… something else," Amber suddenly said, wiping her eyes and looked away.

The brothers looked back at Amber, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

She sniffled again and looked back to them. "It's… kinda weird. But for a while now she's been complaining about these… bizarre dreams."

"How bizarre?" Dean asked.

Amber sighed. "Every night was the same dream… about this woman, this really terrifying looking woman, carrying shears, I guess, and she'd try to kill Megan by slashing her wrists," She explained, looking away, embarrassedly. "But it has to be a coincidence, right? It's just… way too weird, you know?"

They exchanged glances once again and then looked back at Amber. "Sure, it's probably just a coincidence," Dean assured her.

Sam rose from the couch. "I think that's all we need to know for now. We'll contact you again shortly if we missed anything," Sam said.

"We're very sorry for your loss," Dean nodded, standing up as well.

Amber smiled sadly and nodded, showing them out of the apartment.

_xx_

Later that evening, Sam received a phone call from one of the doctors working at the hospital (they had posed as FBI agents and requested that he let them know of any more reports of suicides or attempted suicides being admitted into the hospital or morgue), so they made their way there to check it out. Dr. Phillips, a tall middle aged man with slightly balding hair, led them down the hall and stopped in front of one of the doors. "Housekeeping found her in the bathroom in a motel just a few miles away from here. She was unconscious, bleeding from both her wrists. We're surprised she even made it, but apparently the maid found her just in time. Any longer, she would have died."

Sam nodded. "So she's awake now?" "Yeah… but.. she's not making much sense. Once she woke up, about an hour ago, she's been very… hysterical. Claiming she saw something that forced her to do it," He shook his head and sighed. "She became very violent and tried to leave… knocked out a male nurse. We were forced to cuff her to the bed, and the sedative we gave her is still wearing off."

"Alright, thank you," Dean nodded. The doctor walked away, and Dean and Sam exchanged glances a moment before stepping into the hospital room. Their eyes widened a bit and Sam's brows furrowed. "Delilah?"

The brunette laying in the hospital bed looked up at them with a drowsy smile. "Hello boys," She said, a smirk tugging on her lips. "I was wondering when the two of you would show up."


	13. In A Red Dress And Alone

_Chapter Thirteen._

"_In A Red Dress And Alone."_

"Delilah? What are you doing here?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm on a weekend spa getaway," She muttered, her voice a little hoarse. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm laying in a hospital bed after having my wrists slashed open and almost bleeding to death. I'm fine, by the way, thanks so much for asking."

"We _mean_," Dean said. "What are you doing here… in Ohio?"

"Same reason as you guys, duh. I got here last week. People have been offing themselves like crazy, decided it was worth checking out."

"Well, we're not sure if it is," Sam said. "None of the victims are linked together in any way, and, aside from one person complaining of a weird dream, I'm not sure this is our kinda case."

"Uh, trust me, I'm pretty sure it is," She nodded.

Dean arched a brow. "Why are you so sure?"

Delilah held up one of her bandaged arms, the one that wasn't cuffed to the railing of the bed, and smiled. "Call it a hunch." She let her hand fall back in her lap and she winced a little.

"So you didn't-?" Dean gestured towards her wrists.

"No, Dean, I didn't try to kill myself if that's what you're asking," She glared at him.

Dean raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. So what happened?" He sat down in the armchair next to the bed as Sam stood at the bottom of the bed.

"Well, I had just finished talking to some of the victims' friends, roommates… came up with diddly squat, of course," She sighed. "Then I grabbed a bite to eat and went back to my motel room to catch a couple of z's. That 'weird dream' that Megan girl had before she died? Not a coincidence. I had the same one. And then I was attacked…"

.

_The linoleum was ice cold against Delilah's lower back, shoulders, and her arms, which were outstretched horizontal to her body. She found herself pinned to the bathroom floor by an invisible force, unable to move. Her fingernails scratched against the floor in a feeble attempt to grasp it and move herself. A tall woman in a flowing maroon colored dress stepped into the room, a smile slowly spreading over her cracked, pale lips. Her face was pale and scarred as she looked down at Delilah. "Well aren't you a pretty, pretty thing…" She whispered, suddenly kneeling down at Delilah's side and pulling out the shears with one hand. She held a finger up to her own lips and shook her head, making a quiet shushing sound. The hunter whimpered as sharp pain rain down from her wrist and further down her arm. "N-no…" She gasped, her vision starting to blur as the woman started in on the other wrist. "Shhh… it's almost over…" The woman whispered. She started to say something else, but Delilah's hearing faded and everything went black._

_._

"Needless to say, I was left for dead. When I woke up, I was pretty out of it. I mean, I lost a lot of blood, so my memory was a little foggy at first. But I know what I saw."

Sam nodded. "Do you know what it was that attacked you?"

"Not what, _who," _She corrected him. "And yeah, I've got a pretty good lead on who it might be. The name Elizabeth Bathory ring any bells?"

Both Dean and Sam's brows furrowed a little. "Should it?" Dean asked.

"She's better known as the Blood Countess, or the Bloody Lady of Čachtice-"

"Right right, I remember, she was, a, uh… Hungarian Countess… killed a bunch of women back in the 1600s," Sam nodded.

"Yep," Delilah said with a nod. "Though, 'a bunch of women' is a bit of an understatement. It's believed that she killed hundreds of girls and young women. Some say the body count is near the 600s… though she was only convicted on 80 of them. My uncle used to tell me stories about her.."

"So, what you're saying is this Bathory chick is back and killing again… but you said she was from Hungary. Why would she be in Ohio?" Dean asked.

"You think I know?" Delilah responded sarcastically. "Look, I'm not saying it's really Bathory that's back, but it's the only lead I've got that makes sense. Could be a spirit of somebody Elizabeth killed, or a copycat killer… or some majorly pissed off witch with a grudge against the victims. Whatever it is, it didn't just pin me to the floor by itself," She paused. "Well, it did. But you know what I mean. With witchcraft, or some kinda supernatural ability."

"All right, we'll look into it."

"Excuse me? No offense, but I was here first. This is my case. I can handle it." She replied smugly.

"Yeah? Well no offense, but you lost several pints of blood and oh yeah, you're cuffed to a hospital bed. We'll take it from here," Dean returned the smug smile before he turned and started to walk from the room.

"Oh, real mature!" Delilah called after them.

_xx_

Sam and Dean's next stop was the Beverly Public Library to do a little research on Bathory. It wasn't as big as most libraries, but it had the obvious amount of countless book, all organized neatly along the tan shelves. The computers were on desks, tightly crammed into a small area on the far side of the library.

Bored with the research that was going absolutely nowhere in helping them connect Elizabeth Bathory to the recent murders, Dean wandered off and somehow ended up in the other end of the library, somewhere in between the Fiction and Horror sections.

As he glanced around at books absent mindedly, someone caught his attention. An attractive someone. A woman stood nearby at one of the bookshelves, completely engrossed in one of the books. Her wavy brown hair with a hint of auburn hung down below her shoulders, which were snugly covered in a black sweater. Her brilliant blue eyes, outlined by smoky black eyeliner, scanned the page that she was reading, not straying for even a moment to see Dean staring at her from a few feet away. Suddenly, the woman closed the book, and looked up. He looked away quickly and picked up the nearest book he could find, pretending to read the back cover intently. She walked over, smirking as she looked at the title of the book he was holding. "Twilight?" She asked, arching a brow.

"Oh, uh... It's um..." He searched his mind for an excuse, but was unsuccessful. Of all the books he had to grab, why did it have to be a ridiculous vampire love story? He quickly placed the book back on the shelf, and, after regaining the ability to speak like a normal human being, he smiled at her and tried to push the embarrassment from his mind. "I'm Dean." "Amy," The girl smiled. "So, Dean, are you from around here?"

"No, just here for business," He replied with a smile.

She returned the smile. "Oh, I see."

Just as Dean was about to say something, Sam rushed over, some papers in his hands, looking very eager to talk to his brother. "Dean, could I talk to you for a moment?"

"Could you give me a minute, Sam?" He urged, wanting to talk to Amy just a little bit longer.

Amy glanced over at the papers in Sam's hand. The only thing she could really see was the name Elizabeth Bathory scrawled over the top of one of the pages. She made a face, and then looked at Dean real quick. "See you around, Dean." She smiled as she said his name and then walked away.

Dean watched as she disappeared over to another shelf, and then turned to glare at Sam. "This better be important..." He mumbled as he snatched the papers from his hands.

"So, I think Delilah might actually be right about this Elizabeth Bathory thing," Sam explained as Dean read the printed articles. "As the legend goes, she tortured and killed hundreds of young woman, draining them of their blood, then bathed in it, because she felt that the blood kept her young and beautiful, like…"

"Like a fountain of youth." Dean finished.

"Exactly. And her murder weapon of choice was, guess what? A pair of silver shears, like the ones in the dreams. Because of what she did, and her fascination of blood, she became known as the Blood Countess. She eventually died around 1614 while under house arrest. She basically starved herself to death." Sam finished as Dean handed the papers back to him.

Dean flipped through the pages, glancing over them. "Alright. Say it is her. Why would she choose Ohio, of all places, to go on a murdering spree?"

"Maybe someone summoned her here?" Sam suggested. "To do their dirty work?"

"Makes sense. Who better to kill of pretty girls than Bathory herself," Dean said, glancing around the aisles they passed as they started to leave the library. "But how are we supposed to know who did it? It could be anyone in this town."

"True," Sam said, as they stepped out into the cool, sunny parking lot. The Impala was parked out on the far corner of the lot. "But I'm betting whoever it is has some connection with the victims, and that whoever did it, used some pretty serious witchcraft."

Dean shuddered. "Ugh. Why does it always have to be witches?" He groaned.


	14. Dark That Follows

**_A/N: So so sorry to those who actually read this and have been waiting ages for updates. Writer's block hit yet again and I've really only been writing on the other story I write with my friend Lauren. Hopefully I'll be writing on this more, I still have ideas, but I can't make any promises on quick updates :\_**

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_Chapter Fourteen_

_"Dark That Follows."_

It was half past two the next day, and Dean was bored stiff. Tired of sitting in the motel room pretending to read over the pages about Elizabeth Bathory in some history book, he decided to go to the library. Maybe he'd see Amy there. Maybe he would ask her out for coffee, or maybe even dinner. "I'll be back in a little while. I've gotta go to the library for uh, something..."

"Since when do you read?" Sam asked, frowning skeptically.

"Since I met this totally hot girl there," Dean said, smirking as he grabbed his jacket and his car keys. No use in lying.

"Nice Dean, really nice." Sam laughed. "Oh, and while you're out, will you drop my computer off at the computer shop down the road? Maybe they can figure out what's wrong with it," He pointed towards the laptop that sat on the bottom of the bed.

He shrugged. "Sure," He said, picking up the laptop and carrying it under his arm as he left the motel. He tossed it carelessly in the backseat and then put the car in drive. He first stopped by Staples to drop off Sam's laptop, and then, ten minutes later, arrived at the library.

He found her in the non-fiction section, shelving books. At first, he was unsure whether to approach her or not, but then the testosterone part of him kicked in and he walked over confidently. Like she had heard him coming, she looked up and smiled. "Hello, Dean," She said, putting one of the last few books on the cart onto the top shelf. She carefully got down from the step ladder and turned to face him. "What brings you here again?"

He grinned. "Actually, I was looking for a girl named Amy. She works here, and I was going to ask her out for coffee."

Amy smiled, and for a moment there, he thought she was blushing. "I get off in fifteen minutes. You mind waiting?"

"Not at all," he replied.

"Meet me at the front around 3, then?"

Dean nodded. She smiled and then walked away, pulling the cart along with her as she disappeared behind another shelf of books. He turned to walk away, bumping into another person in the process. "_Excuse_ me." She seethed. Her hair was jet black, and hung past her shoulders. and a nametag that read, "October" was pinned to her red shirt. She rolled her eyes and pushed by him, almost knocking him down. He was surprised for a moment, but pushed it from his mind. _Not every librarian _has_ to be nice._

Fifteen minutes later, Dean wandered up to the front desk of the library and took a seat in one of the comfy blue chairs nearby the exit. Ten minutes passed, and there was still no sign of Amy. _Maybe she got caught up shelving books and whatnot..._ He thought, and decided to wait a couple more minutes before leaving. That couple minutes turned into nearly an hour as Dean waited, having dozed off a couple times. He walked over to the front desk, where a man in his forties greeted him. "May I help you, sir?"

"Yes. I'm looking for a woman, her name is Amy. Reddish brown hair, she works here? Have you seen her?" He asked.

The man nodded. "Yeah, she left about an hour ago."

"Okay, thanks." He left the library with a small frown on his face. He was actually looking forward to talking with her more, and it was really strange how she just left like that. He shrugged it off as he reached the Impala, slumping into the leather seat, before slipping the key into the ignition and driving back to the motel.

_xx_

She stepped out of the library with a hint of a smile spreading across her lightly glossed lips. Her eyes followed a young blonde, who looked to be seventeen or so, walking out of the library, a couple of books held against her chest with her arms. She crossed the parking lot, glancing around wearily, but she didn't see the woman who was following closely behind. She tucked a strand of her long hair out of her face as she stepped onto the sidewalk, and, after about five minutes, she reached her house. The door was unlocked.

"Mom? Dad?" Her voice bounced off the walls in the empty living room. She tossed the books onto the pale blue couch as she called out again. "Anyone here?" Walking into the kitchen, she noticed a yellow post-it note on the refrigerator door. _Hayley, gone for the evening. Will be back late. Love you, Mom & Dad._ She walked down the hall and into the bathroom, where she started running her bath water. There was a loud crash, and Hayley spun around to see mirror above the sink was smashed, and in front of her stood a woman, eyes cold, emotionless. She screamed, but it was no use. With a blink of the woman's brown eyes, she was pushed backwards and her head hit the edge of the bathtub, causing her to fall unconscious.

After she made deep cuts on each of the young girl's wrists, and let her bleed out into the bathtub, she arranged the body next to the forged note with ease.

_Living is hard, dying is easy. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't go on any longer. Don't blame yourself. I love you,_

_Hayley._

_xx_

Sunlight flooded the motel room as Sam stepped through the door bright and early the next morning. There was a cup of coffee in each hand, and his laptop, which he had just picked up, good as new, from Staples, was held tightly underneath his arm. Sam didn't have to say a word: the smell of Starbucks coffee and the tiniest bit of sunlight was enough to wake Dean.

"I smell coffee," He mumbled into his pillow, before sitting up on the bed and holding his hand out for the cup.

Sam rolled his eyes, but handed it to him. "A thank you would have been nice," He muttered as Dean took a sip of the steaming coffee.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing." He said quickly. He sat down his coffee on the nightstand and turn to face Dean, who was now fully awake thanks to the caffeine. "There was another _suicide_ yesterday."

Sam waited for his response, but his brother remained silent, sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam continued, "Her name was Hayley Anderson. She was seventeen, a young woman, which fits the pattern. Her parents found her in her bathroom, wrists slashed, which _also _fits the pattern." Sam replied. "Figure we should talk to the parents, check out the scene of the crime."

"Let's go."


End file.
